


Meditation (Partial)

by lirulin



Series: Sarek and Amanda [6]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, shortfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-31
Updated: 2009-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirulin/pseuds/lirulin
Summary: Sarek is uncomfortable with the way Amanda meditates, it is very alarming to him.





	Meditation (Partial)

**Author's Note:**

> This was never posted as a fill, not so far as I can remember, but it exists in the document alongside the previous installment of this series. It was a concept for an alternate Meditation fic and it got just far enough to qualify as whole. I am concerned I will lose this file so archived here it goes.

Vulcans were strange creatures. This was a fact that Amanda had long ago accepted. Vulcans were simultaneously repressed and completely open about everything and anything, and took a great deal of care in being as transparent as possible, assuming one asked the most specific questions available. They hid nothing and supplied nothing, and after a short while it became a most grating experience.

After the first few weeks of full immersion in Vulcan culture, Amanda concluded that the Vulcan brain didn't organize information in the same way as Humans. While this was not an altogether startling revelation, the depth and breadth of it was astonishing. Whereas humans specialized in prediction of future trends—understanding that fog on glass meant that it was cold on the other side, that vowels followed consonants, that the standard accumulation of numbers repeated in intervals of ten and would do so long after the numbers ceased to have formal names—it appeared to her that Vulcans posessed specifically eidictic qualities. 

She had asked something of Sarek's brother—she'd had a traditional Andorian song in her head and he was a Xenolinguist, she'd assumed he would know. She'd hummed the first few bars of the song, thrown in a few words when she could manage, and it had taken the man almost a full second to recall the composition she'd been asking about. Despite its fame, it had taken him another half a second to recall the song it its entireity and insert the phrase she had been attempting to sing. He did not supply her with the notes that followed or the words, and simply ceased speaking once the information had been provided.

From a scientific standpoint, it was a fascinating revelation. She'd asked him then what the fifth stanza in the first act of Jorgon's play Hak-met De Ahkchat was and, like clockwork, he'd paused, recalled, and recited it for her verbatim. She'd attempted similar exercises with several other Vulcans over the next several days and had come to the same results. Boldly, she'd decided to casually confirm her hypothesis and had started asking them their opinions on her next course of action. The responses took significantly longer to generate and every single one of them referenced a concrete source over genuine intuition, even in the case of an inconcrete, casual recipe for cookies.

The conclusion, that Vulcan's relied predominantly on the ability to recall information exactly as it was presented to them, was one that alleviated a considerable amount of her frustration. She reminded herself of this concept almost constantly—it gave her significantly renewed patience—and she found it was much easier to keep an equinanimous mood in public. It was no wonder Vulcans were hesitant to initiate contact with her—without a significant store of information, they had no way of recalling what the proper reactions to her would be. It was simultaneously funny and sad that this allowed her to very accurately predict the reactions of everyone she interacted with on a daily basis.

Eventually, as time slipped by and the general hesitance to approach Amanda was not tempered by the constant public and private observation she tolerated, Amanda's frustration grew again. Everyone was polite—they had learned very quickly that couching facts in politesse was the simplest way to ensure a mild reaction from her—but the surprise and silence she encountered whenever she did anything was disconcerting. She felt like a novelty and the sensation grew sharper with time. 

Her thoughts were racing as she relaxed. They surged through the forefront of her mind, clear and tumbling, and her pulse pounded in measured time against her ribs. Amanda sat, perched on the arm of her sofa, and stared at the walls of her study. Was she a novelty? Could she honestly fault the Vulcans for acting according to their comforts? Admittedly, she was only attempting to initate contact so that she could acquire better information to predict their actions by—her reasoning was the same as theirs', fundamentally. Sarek was a compromised variable—his experience and profession made him an unsuitable comparison to the vast remainder of Vulcan Society. She was certain that she qualified as the same—her pragmatic approach tended to override emotional stimulus. 

With a sigh she scrubbed her hand through her hair and stared at the ceiling. Idly, within her pondering, she recognized that the ceiling of her study was the floor of the meditation chamber. She was worked up—meditation could be a solid alternative. She could feel the quiet thrum of Sarek's meditative mind where it hovered, peacefully, against the threshold of her skull. His thoughts felt strangely like Tetris—another fact she'd not alerted him to—in that she could feel the slide of his mind as it carded itself into careful, interlocking patterns. 

“That's just what I need,” Amanda announced to the room with a short laugh, “some brain Tetris.”

She hadn't meditated since college—but then, she hadn't been this stressed since college. With less grace than she'd been accustomed to using, Amanda dropped down onto the floor and crossed her legs. She extended her arms fully and then gently propped her hands, palm up, on her knees. Her office was warm and welcoming—all of her familiar keepsakes adorned the walls and she didn't have to prevent or encourage the smile that turned up her lips. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and continued to think. 

Her thoughts plodded through her mind and her pulse thrummed in her veins and everything was so very, very distracting. She focused her attention, first, on the dark non-vision before her eyes. Her thoughts of Vulcans faded before her recognition of her own pulse. Without conscious thought, she was left fixated on consciously regulating her breathing, the unconscious thrum of her heart, and the twisting attempts to focus her eyes. With a second deep breath, she tried to pull back, to think of nothing, but she was ultimately unsuccessful. She attempted for a very long, very fruitless time, and wondered if she'd forgotten how to meditate over the years of disuse.

In the back of her mind, she felt the silent organization of Sarek's thoughts and let the calm space between his thoughts and her own flood her consciousness. Without focus, her mind slowly slipped into trance—her physical awareness melted away, then her mental organization, and finally the sensation of Sarek's mediation murmured through her without recognition. She was a conduit, she had no mind and no sensation, and was perfectly still and unaware. Information passed through her and, though she was remembering it, she had no access to it. Her vitals slowed as she maintained trance and pulled her deeper into the perfect nothingness of it. 

Amanda was so serene and tranquil, at peace with the sheer concept of existing, that her heart gave a painful, erratic leap as she was forcibly pulled from her trance. Her eyes flew open and she took in a sharp, stuttered breath as a tight pressure on her shoulders shook her too and fro with punctuated harshness. Her awareness came back to her all at once and she blinked as she saw Sarek's blatantly panicked face hovering inches above hers. Her ears rang and she could still feel the sting of his shouting as it faded. His eyes darted across her face as his grip on her shoulder's tightened—the back of her head was throbbing and she could feel his mind pushing against the threshold of hers.

“Adun, what's wrong?” Amanda prompted quickly and lifted her hands to rest them against his forearms. His grip on her only intensified in strength as her hands wrapped around his wrists. “Has something happened?” Her heart lept into her throat and her eyes darted behind him—she couldn't smell smoke. Was he injured? He didn't seem to be injured? Had something happened to a family member? She made to stand but his hands were like iron restraints and she couldn't manage to move as he held her. Confused, she turned to find his expression hadn't changed. She stared at his wide, dark eyes in silence and waited for him to elaborate. After several seconds, his grip loosened and his hands pulled away from her shoulders.

“T'hy'la,” she ventured softly, “what is it?” His mind was intruding on her own, touching and leaning through their link, and she allowed it readily. She'd never seen him quite so...disturbed before. With as much mental dexterity as she could manage—which wasn't much comparatively—she sent an even reassurance through their bond. As he stared at her and his hands settled at his side, she realized that he had no means to deal with whatever had just occurred. Her mind raced as she recalled the events of the day—everything had been standard until she'd been unable to sleep. He'd been meditating, as he often did, and she'd—oh. “Was it my meditation?”

“Meditation?” he repeated, as though the concept were completely foreign to him. “You were meditating?”

“Yes,” Amanda confirmed, “I just needed to clear my mind.”

“Don't,” he interrupted abruptly and Amanda was taken aback. “Don't,” he repeated and his hand settled on her knee.


End file.
